A southern autumn finally makes its way into the hickory, maple, and oak forests,

we’ve been waiting. Longing for it.

Yet, it has been lingering — barely ready to descend – – – until now.

It brings a soft glow that feels like a warm blanket when you’re cold,

you know how it feels, and you need it.

It calls to us softly – – – slow down, slow down – – – winter is coming.

It holds us after a deep and wide year,

A year that has torn our hearts open,

until we come face to face with love,

Are we going to love or are we just going to say we’re going to love?

There’s no time for false faces in autumn. (Except for maybe Halloween)

Is love alive or isn’t it?

Love is too big, too pervasive, too good to fake.

you know how it feels and you need it.

Is love alive or isn’t it?